


The Less I Know The Better

by siskins



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6749386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siskins/pseuds/siskins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stay there for ages, a bastard and a Wildling at the top of the world. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Less I Know The Better

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short, fairly fluffy, fairly drabbly one-shot with Jon and Ygritte after they've climbed The Wall. I own nothing.

They stay there for ages, a bastard and a Wildling at the top of the world. There’s a hungry, almost nervous look in Ygritte’s eyes as she absorbs the view she’s only ever dreamt of since she was a child. 

Her cheeks are bitten by the cold and the icy air stings her eyes, but she feels warm, almost too warm, in fact. She’s still not quite caught her breath after the climb and Jon Snow’s arms are strong and heavy around her shoulders. If it weren’t for the fact that she was finally stood atop The Wall, she would happily collapse to the floor and sleep. Out of the corner of her eye she can see their fellow climbers doing just that; resting for as long as they can before they make the same formidable journey down the other side of The Wall. 

She glances up to find Jon watching her intently, his eyes darker than usual. He’s over thinking something again, she can tell. She cocks her head to the side, questioning him. He merely shakes his own slightly before leaning down to steal a quick, searing kiss. 

Ygritte leans further into him, her gloved hands curling into the back of his furs as she rests her cheek against his chest once again, her gaze returning to the endless landscape surrounding them. She breathes deeply; overwhelmed by everything that’s happened over the last few hours. She’s never been afraid of dying before, but almost falling from The Wall has shaken her unspeakably. 

Instinctively and in a gesture that’s still fairly foreign to her, she snuggles closer into Jon’s embrace. It’s usually Jon who’s the snuggler, especially in his sleep. He doesn’t call her out on it though, as she would do him if their roles were reversed; his only response being to tighten his hold on her.

“That was a brave thing y’did, Jon Snow,” she tells him after a while, her eyes fixedly tracing the horizon. The words had been bubbling to the surface for a while, without her really knowing what they were.

He doesn’t reply; merely brushes his chapped lips against her forehead. Always so affectionate for such a sullen lad. For a Crow. 

“Y’should’ve let me fall.” Fire burns in her eyes as she glares at the rising sun. “We could’ve both died.”

Her words linger unacknowledged for so long that she thinks he’s never going to respond. Or that he’s angry. Or maybe he agrees with her. After all, what kind of Crow risks his life for a Wilding?

“Aye, we could’ve,” Jon replies eventually in an unreadable tone. “But we didn’t.” His voice is gravelly; it’s the first time he’s spoken for a long while. She can hear the tiredness and the relief and a hint of stubbornness, too.

“No, we didn’t,” she agrees, turning her face to his once more. His stare is so intense it stirs something deep within her.

Hands gripping her waist tightly, he leans towards her. She subconsciously pouts her lips in anticipation of another kiss but his lips never touch hers. Instead, they move to her ear, his nose skimming the shell.

“If y’really think I would’ve given that fucking Warg the satisfaction of killing us both,” he growls passionately, making her shudder as his lips brush against her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “You know nothing.”

A smirk lifts the corner of her lips, and she arches her neck as his lips descend onto that spot he discovered that makes her mewl uncharacteristically like a kitten. 

“Is that right, Jon Snow?” Yrgitte breathes, unable to stop her eyes from rolling slightly as his he sucks lightly on her skin. Sometimes she finds it hard to believe that he didn’t learn this stuff from some Southron princess somewhere out there. 

Her gloved hands cup the back of his head, a soft whimper breaking free from her lips as his own leave her skin. There’s a mischievous glint in his tired eyes as he meets her gaze; he loves that he can affect her like this and makes no secret of it. If they weren’t both exhausted from the climb she might’ve suggested he put into practice all of those other skills that apparently just came naturally to him. 

Ygritte leans up to brush her cold nose against his before returning her cheek to Jon’s chest, his furs soft against her wind-beaten skin. His arms close her around waist once more and he presses a soft, affectionate kiss against the side of her head. 

It’s only when he speaks after an unknowable amount of time, his voice rumbling against her ear, that she realises her eyes have closed and that he’s suddenly almost supporting her entire weight.

“What?” she slurs, sluggishly forcing her eyes open. She attempts to look up but at him but the sunlight stings her eyes, so she closes them again, turning her face into his chest. She hears him repeat himself but she’s too tired to concentrate on the words.

Tormund watches from further along The Wall as Jon Snow reaches down, knocks one arm under Yrgitte’s knees and lifts her effortlessly. He watches as he carries her along The Wall a short distance, coming to rest against a particularly high formation of ice and lowering them both to the ground behind it, sheltered from the direction of the bitter wind. Ygritte’s cheeks are a little more red than pink, eyes heavy with sleep and that frown he’s used to seeing on her wild, expressive face even in slumber nowhere to be seen. He sees her accept the water Jon offers to her, the trust on her face. It’s a look he’s never seen before. He only hopes it isn’t misplaced.

It’s a moment before he realises Jon Snow’s dark eyes are watching him. Tormund nods and then turns away, allowing them whatever rest they can find before the descent. He doesn't know if he can trust Jon Snow. He hopes that Ygritte can.

Ygritte sighs as they arrange themselves into as comfortable a position as possible, Jon curling around her from behind, a ritual that comes naturally to them both now. Every muscle in her body aches and she can’t remember ever feeling so tired. 

Jon’s arm snakes around her waist, his hand coming to rest against her stomach. She knows the climb was only the start of this mission. She knows they’ll be lucky to sleep for more than few hours before they begin their descent. She knows things will get harder and even more dangerous.

“Thank you, Jon Snow,” she whispers out of the blue, the sincerity of her words almost foreign on her lips. She’s asleep before she can acknowledge the hood of her furs being pulled aside and the press of lips against the skin of her neck.

If Tormund had still been looking, he would’ve seen Jon Snow fight the lure of sleep for a minute longer to study the girl he’s accidentally fallen in love with, an existential frown marring his face. He would’ve seen him lower his forehead to her shoulder briefly and he would’ve struggled to distinguish whether it was in apology or surrender. 

They sleep until woken by the preparations to begin again. Ygritte stands first, pulling Jon up behind her. She spares a glance backwards to the North she’s leaving behind while Jon looks southwards towards the only home he’s ever known. 

Their eyes meet as they stand on the line that’s divided them their whole lives, and they both know that everything’s about to change.

Fin.


End file.
